Desolation Diaries, 1-3: Desolation, #3.5

By Ali Archer

Desolation is the God of Midgard and the Earth is safe. 

 

Or so it seems.

 

James and Miri move to Paris so James can attend culinary school and Miri can paint. They think the world is safe—that they are safe.

 

Nothing could be further from the truth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Novel Ninjutsu
• Release date: Dec 5, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386291145

Book preview

Desolation Diaries 1-3

Copyright © 2013 by Ali Archer

Published by Novel Ninjutsu

All Rights Reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written permission of the author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.

Cover Design by Steven Novak

Interior Design by Novel Ninjutsu

www.aliarcherbooks.com

Also by

Ali Archer

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Sacrifice

Become (book 1)

Desolate (book 2)

Destined (book 3)

Desolation Diaries v. 1-3

Minnie Kim Vampire Girl

Deadly Sweethearts (book 2)

Seoul Demon (book 3)

Blood Moon (book 4)

Den of Death (book 5)

Minnie Kim Vampire Soul

Coming Soon!

The Eden Project

Dragon Protocol (coming in October 2022)

Knights of Myth & Magic

Coming in 2023!

The Lady and the Vampire

The Lady and the Grey Guard

The Lady and the Devil

Discover the world of Desolation!

Subscribe to Ali’s newsletter and get Sacrifice,

the prequel to the Desolation series for FREE!

Dear Reader:

It came as a surprise to me, when writing Become, how much I loved James. I originally created him to be a character foil for Desi, but he very quickly became a character I wanted to know more about. And judging by the comments and emails I’ve received ~ many of you feel the same.

So I offer you the Desolation Diaries ~ the story of Miri and James after Destined (Desolation #3) ends. I hope you enjoy the stories of these lovebirds and their life together in Paris.

The Desolation Diaries are novellas based on the world and story of Desolation. If you aren’t familiar with the world of Desolation, I recommend you start with Become (book one of Desolation), then read books two and three.

I hope you enjoy this continuation of the story!

Love, ali

A soft sigh escaped Miri’s lips and she snuggled closer to me, pressing her body against mine. If she opened her eyes, they’d be shadowed with desire. Thank god they stayed shut. The girl had no idea what she did to me. Stifling a groan, I slipped out of her grasp and out from beneath the covers to stand, panting, at the side of the bed. I had to get out of here.

I pulled on jeans and my leather jacket, took a deep breath once I stood in the hall and shut the door behind me. I didn’t know how long I could go on with our relationship like this.

Not that I had any intention of leaving Miri—I could never. Would never.

But I felt like a frickin’ saint these days. A totally celibate, totally chaste saint.

Miri wanted to wait until we were married, but she wasn’t eighteen yet and her dad was enough of a jerk to deny her marriage to me—when I could take care of her, protect her, and hell yes, make love to her. He didn’t give a crap what she did with her day to day. I didn’t even know when they talked last. A few months ago, maybe. Yet he had no problem dictating her life.

Our apartment building breathed with sleep—even in Paris people sleep sometimes. At least in this quarter they did. I snuck down the stairs and out onto the street. The ancient pavers were wet with the constant drizzle. And I didn’t do hats. Or umbrellas. I turned the collar of my jacket up and struck out to my left. A pass around the neighborhood should do it. Miri would be fast asleep by then, with no chance of her reaching out sleepy hands, sighing sleepy sighs, or whispering sleepy love-you-words that drove me crazy with want.

This was how things went with us these days. I’d stay away until she fell asleep, and do my best to get up before she woke. Every night. Every morning. I hated missing those times, those moments between night and day that felt like tiny pieces of heaven—those were the times she’d most likely give in to me. And oh how I wanted her to give in to me.

But no way did I want to push her into something I knew she didn’t want. I wanted to do right by her and if that meant marriage, then hell yes, I’d marry the girl.

I passed one shadowed doorway after another until one made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I paused, peering into the darkness, but couldn’t make anything, or anyone, out. But when I kept walking, I had that distinct feeling someone was watching me. Following me.

I whirled around, expecting to catch that giant dog traipsing after me like it did last summer. But the street was empty. Still. Cursing under my breath, muttering about my exam in the morning and how I’d be too keyed up to get a good night’s sleep, I stomped along the quiet street until I returned to our building.

And near about crapped my pants when the shadows resolved themselves into a woman straight from my nightmares.

Hello darling. The goddess Hel, dripping with sex appeal and danger, grabbed me by the front of my jacket and yanked me into the shadows. Mmm. I’ve missed you.

She pressed her body to mine, her lips seeking my collarbone while my brain looped on some crazy wimp stuff like pleaseohpleaseohplease.

Oh, I intend to, Hel whispered against my skin. For a moment she had me trapped, my hands hovering in the air above her flame-red hair, my body frozen stiff.

Ah, hell no. Not this time, witch. I shoved her away from me, panting from the effort. Stay away from me.

But you begged me. I heard your thoughts clear as day. She leaned against the wooden door, her hands in the too-small front pockets of her feminized pea-coat.

I meant for you to stay away. The please was for my sanity. There’s no way I’m falling victim to your particular brand of crazy ever again.

She pushed off from the door and I found my body touching hers again, but thankfully she kept her hands in her pockets. You’re a grown man, my pet. A man with desires.

Unbidden, my mind’s eye filled with memories of Miri, of all the times when I thought I’d go insane if she didn’t let me kiss her, touch her, make love to her. There were a lot of memories—I pretty much wanted the girl every minute of every day.

When you’re ready for a real woman, think of me. I’d love to . . . she still didn’t touch me but she increased the pressure of her body against mine, get together.

Oh yeah. I bet she would. More like enslave me and rob me of my free will, but whatever. I shut my eyes against the burning lust on her face until she released the pressure against my body. When I opened them, she was gone.

I threw open the door and bolted up the stairs, not caring if I woke Madame Belan or any of the other tenants. I pounded up the stairs to our second-floor studio and all the way to our bed where I found Miri fast asleep, just like I’d left her.

Shit, get it together. There were too many real-live nightmares for me to give in to my own fears. While I stripped out of my jeans and jacket, I convinced myself of the truth I wanted to believe.

Helena hadn’t just been here. She hadn’t just come on to me. Everything was okay. Nothing could hurt us ever again.

I’d always been good at telling myself lies.

Sleep didn’t come easily. I found myself listening for any little sound, my muscles tensing with every whiff of cold air that slipped beneath our door. My throat constricted whenever I thought of Hel, and even though I tried my damndest, the whole night filled with thoughts of her. I felt like my lungs were starved for air, like my arms had spent all night swimming the English Channel. Fear tugged me from sleep every time I drifted off until exhaustion won out and I finally gave in around four in the morning.

I woke to soft kisses along my collarbone and immediately jerked away, falling off the opposite edge of the bed.

Hey! I’ve brushed my teeth and everything—my breath can’t be that bad. Miri stood by my side of the bed, one of my button-downs over her white tank and pink-daisy panties. She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips.

Oh, god, Mir. I’m sorry. It’s just—it’s just . . . What? I raked my fingers through my hair as I got to my feet, struggling to find the words to make up it right between us.

Miri sighed as her countenance fell into sadness and regret. She sank onto the bed and hugged my pillow to her chest. I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I know you don’t like to get frisky in the mornings. I didn’t want to correct her. Better she thought it was my late-night-and-morning avoidance, my zero-tolerance horny times, that made me pull away.

It’s just, it’s way late and nothing else I tried woke you up, so . . .

Ah, hell. Seriously? The time on the coffee maker said 7:45—and class started in fifteen frickin’ minutes.

I flew into panic mode, pulling on jeans, and throwing on last night’s shirt before planting a too-quick kiss on Miri’s forehead and running for the door. I’d gone five steps down before I remembered I’d forgotten my knives. Cursing, I turned on my heels and dashed for the door. It opened and Miri appeared with my kit in her hands.

You’re the best. I kissed her lips this time, ever aware of how I’d won the jackpot with this girl. Love you, bright eyes.

Love you too! she called after me as I flew down the stairs.

I’d never run the four blocks to culinary school faster than I did that morning. I probably knocked more than one coffee cup out of someone’s hands and nearly got hit by a mini-car while trying to dodge strollers and motorcycles that decided to use the sidewalk rather than wait behind the long line of traffic.

At school I shoved my jacket into my locker, pulling on my cap and grabbing my chef’s coat as I bolted down the hall to class.

A crowd gathered outside our room, talking and laughing about some woman who’d shown up a few minutes ago. What’s going on? I asked as I stepped up beside Jean Luc. Class cancelled?

Jean Luc slapped his skull cap onto his head and rounded on me, his hands on his hips, eyes spitting daggers. You scoundrel. You better not break your Miri’s heart or I will cut your tongue out and serve it as hors d’ouvres to my shih tzu.

Whoa. I’m not breaking anyone’s heart, let alone Miri’s. What the hell are you talking about?

Jean Luc opened his mouth to respond, but couldn’t get his answer out before Garth dropped his arm around my shoulder and leaned into me, making me nearly lose my footing. I grit my teeth while I shrugged out from under him. Dude. I snapped my coat. I did not like people getting in my personal space and everyone knew it. But Garth was an asshole.

I never got your hard-on for that little chick you’re always hanging out with, but man, I totally approve of Sexy Shit in there. He nodded toward the closed classroom door.

Sexy Shit? What the hell, Garth?

I rounded on Jean Luc, the only one I could count on to give me a straight answer. His glower of disapproval had morphed into contemplation, as if he were trying to figure something out. You mean you did not bring her with you this morning?

Bring who? I growled my words—if no one fessed up in five seconds I’d flatten them all.

Jean Luc sighed and tugged me by the elbow to a quieter spot down the hallway. She came a few minutes before you arrived. She said she was your fiancée and you had invited her to observe the class. She desired a word with Monsieur Laurens before you arrived. Jean Luc’s sharp blue eyes matched his clipped French accent, every word, every squint scraped against my senses.

She.

Oui. A most glorious she.

My vision went black and my throat became as dry as the Sahara, my tongue suddenly two sizes too big. Unable to breathe, Jean Luc pounded on my back—none too gently—while I fought to get it together. As soon as I could swallow I jerked forward, leaving Jean Luc and his good intentions behind me. I shouldered past my classmates and threw the door open.

Monsieur Laurens spun around, a guilty expression on his face. Beyond him I could tell a woman sat on the prep table by the curve of her calf, her delicate foot clad in an impossibly high stiletto. Ah, Monsieur Mason—I was just, eh, telling your dear fiancée how well you are doing in class. He tugged at the silly cravat he wore and avoided meeting my gaze.

The woman uncrossed her legs and lowered herself to the floor. I froze, terrified of the truth I knew would face me, literally, in three, two, one . . .

Hello, mon chéri.

I blinked slowly, and swallowed. Wondered how my life had become my own personal hell.

What are you doing here? My words dripping with exhaustion and maybe a little resignation. I avoided looking at Hel, putting it off for as long as I could. Monsieur Laurens had no problem gaping at her like a love-struck toad, though.

Hel’s heels clicked on the cement floor as she crossed the distance between us. I commanded my feet to stay put, even though every part of my body screamed for me to run. She looked younger than when I saw her last night. She wore her hair slicked back into a ponytail, delicate strands curving around her high cheekbones. Her makeup light, fresh, her lips the perfect, kissable shade of shimmery peach. Silver toggles gleamed on the front of her updated fifties-style pea-coat. She seemed to be about my age and worth a million bucks. No doubt the most delicious girl to ever step foot in this culinary school. My eyes drifted to hers and my breath caught in my throat when I saw the desire radiating from their grass-green depths.

James. She whispered my name as she touched my chest, the word and her fingers sending rivers of desire coursing through my blood. She traced her hand upward until it curved around the back of my neck and she pulled me down for a kiss.

And, oh god. I felt myself come awake, every part of me responding to her kiss. Every part of me screaming to find somewhere private where I could rip her clothes off and take her every way I could imagine. Hell, the prep tables would work. I backed her up to the nearest one, bent her over the stainless surface, my right hand sliding down her hips, slipping beneath her skirt.

Mon dieu. Monsieur Laurens’ strangled cry cut through the fog of desire in my brain and the sane part of me grabbed hold of it and yanked my head away from Hel until I had turned to my instructor. The normally unflappable man stood with his cap crumpled in his hands, a wet stain spreading across his pants.

Oh, shit.

I backed off of Hel completely, leaving her with her skirt hiked up, her face flushed with desire. It was a helluva thing for a guy to do, to leave a girl like that. But then I reminded myself—Hel was no normal girl.

I swiped the cap off my head, turned tail and ran.

I flew home in record time, my heart pounding, my fear ratcheting up with every step. By the time I reached our apartment, I could barely get my key in the door my hands were trembling so bad.

Once inside I threw the deadbolt and slid the chain into place before sticking my hands in my hair and pacing the small space between the couch and the bed. Crap, crap, crap.

What the hell was Helena doing here? How could she be here? What did she want from me?

Memories of my time with her—every single fricking one of them—tore through the carefully constructed tomb I’d shoved them in months ago. I Remembered the way she stripped me of my sense of self, of my dignity, my humanity. She stole me away from my life—from Miri, from